


Joe West, Young Man

by Hiver_Frost_Elf



Series: STAR Blazers [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: #BiscuitBucket, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American Sign Language, Anxiety, Basically Lewis & Clay are on their Best Behavior, Bullying, Deutsch | German, Gen, Gotham Goddamn City (mentioned), Guns, Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Job-Hunting, Joe Lays Down the Law, Lewis Snart's A+ Parenting, Lewis is a Moron Comedy Hour, Past Child Abuse, Past Parental Favoritism, Plushies, Poverty, Princess Bride fans will know what that means, ROUSes, Rabies-Ridden Dragon Tattoo, Robbie the Therapy Plushie, Saints & Sinners, Sleeptalking, Store as Old as Stuff, Twins, Which is Everyone Else's Worst Behavior, You Can Never Watch Too Much Disney, Русский | Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiver_Frost_Elf/pseuds/Hiver_Frost_Elf
Summary: My husband makes many impulsive decisions: burn random shit, buy random shit, buy random shit for the sole purpose of burning different random shit, bring back a boy from a shed in the middle of nowhere before burning said shed.  Granted, I would’ve made that last one as well if I was in his place that morning.  Apparently, I inspired his latest impulsive decision by saying, “We need a controlled environment in which to socialize Solnishko.”He translated that into, “Own, renovate, and operate the shittiest bar in Central City.”Lisa found another rat in the bathroom this morning right after Mick and I got a call that our pool tables have finally arrived after not one, not two, but three delays.  We can’t even install decent security cameras because our power is unreliable at best.  Solnishko’s electrokinesis—unintentionally, mind you—fries unstable electronics when he’s stressed: a frequent occurrence, as you can imagine.If you'll excuse me, I have a hot date with my husband: a long, romantic drive... to collect pool tables.





	1. Plot

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Sun & The Star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4776341) by [greenbergsays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbergsays/pseuds/greenbergsays). 



> Unbetaed, barely edited, everyone sucks at summaries.
> 
> Newcomers, please read part one first, otherwise this part probably won't make much sense.
> 
> Oldcomers, welcome back. Canon divergences abound! Reasons for these divergences are in the commentary.
> 
> JWYM is basically 6000+ words of Solnishko freaking out, so if panicking triggers you, thou hast been warned. One line of Solnishko's dialog sounds Stockholm Syndrome-esque, so let me know if I should officially tag this for Stockholm Syndrome or if y'all are more like, "What the hell, HFE? You're worried over absolutely nothing. Which line are you even freakin' talkin' about!?" Also, there are a TON of characters in here, and some of them *cough cough Lewis cough cough Clyde* suffer from Can't Shut Up Syndrome. If that's an issue, erm... sorry not sorry :) :P :)
> 
> Lastly, I cross-checked against my textbook and three online dictionaries, so I'm 99% sure the German in here is correct, but if any of you amazing people are more fluent in Deutsch than someone who's only taken one class of it, let me know if anything is wrong. Same goes for anybody who's more fluent in Russian and/or ASL than someone who's taken zero classes in them. Dialog bordered by single parentheses—"(blah blah blah)"—is ASL. I don't wanna throw ASL under the bus by saying "alas, plot", but I know that's gonna be wrong somehow, so tips and tricks would be greatly appreciated. I tried googling "how to transcribe ASL" and got zero useful information. I know you have to spell names out, but I figured Mark would just sign the word "clay" rather than dignify Clay by addressing him properly. Clay's not gonna know either way.

Shawna must’ve pulled one too many all nighters this week, because why else would a straight-A student wade into a warzone?

Oh yeah, this warzone was hiring.

Central City citizens needed to be as rich as a Rathaway to attend medical school without acquiring debt.  Thank god for in-state tuition & scholarships!  Her freshman self vowed never to apply for an “I’m Black” scholarship, because if Grammy could become class valedictorian without such nonsense, so could Shawna....  Her sophomore-and-beyond selves thought her freshman self was an idiot for not taking free money!

The worst part about this mess was the fact that she wasn’t even in medical school yet.  She was just a lowly undergrad scrounging for any job available.  Thanks for that reminder, Clay.

Her earrings’ fringes limped against her leather jacket, and her almond-eye pendant rested above her tank top.  She hoped this outfit smelled clean enough to pass inspection, but after assessing the state of Saints & Sinners—seriously, did somebody pee on a corpse in here somewhere???  And what the hell has the lights all hot and bothered???—whoever encountered her would probably assume any odors originated from the building.

Or scream for Lisa; that works, too.

Who’s Lisa?

“Lisa, what are you doing right now?” a wiry guy frantically inquired.

“I’m in the bathroom!” feminine fury hissed at him. “What do you think I’m doing!?!”

“There’s a person in here!”

Shawna started to apologize a scant few yards away from him, “I can come b—”

The guy fled upstairs with a shriek.  Lisa emerged amidst sounds of an electric dryer.  She also wore a leather jacket, but hers was upscale and boasted heaps of zippers.  Her dark hair billowed from her scalp. “He’s new....”

“Better to be new at a job than old at not having a job,” Shawna chuffed nervously. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I should’ve given him a break after the guy with the dragon tattoo left.  He was double Solnishko’s size, wearing a wifebeater, most likely came here directly from another bar, undressed me with his eyes, and his dragon tattoo had rabies.  Technically, my brother and brother-in-law are in charge of hiring decisions, but they’re not gonna see his application,” she flicked her head towards a trashcan. “People have no professionalism these days.”

Solnishko poked his head out, expecting Armageddon.  He shoved a stack of applications in Lisa’s face before fleeing again.  Worry inflated Shawna’s eyes.

“He loves people as long as he knows those people,” Lisa explained as she neatened the stack. “You’re the first person he’s run away from, though.”

“How many people have come in here?”

“Seven; he's freaked out at all but two of them.”

Shawna treated that statistic like a medal from the Olympics, “Two out of seven isn’t bad!”

“The other two were our brothers,” Lisa winced guiltily before wheeling the conversation to employment matters. “We need at least two references, but it’s better if we have three; however, you’ll only need to wrangle two because your third reference is going to be me.” Lisa handed over a sheet after swirling her signature at the bottom.  Lisa said to a shocked Shawna, “You asked if Solnishko was okay.”

“I can’t be the only one who’s asked.”

“No, but you’re the only one who asked in a how-can-I-help-my-fellow-human tone instead of an is-he-off-his-meds tone.”

Soon after Shawna left, Lisa got a your-food’s-ready call and departed to fetch it.  She figured Solnishko would be okay on his own for half an hour because people rarely came in this late in the evening.  If all hell broke loose—or stars forbid, another dog-trumping rat invaded the bathroom—Len and Mick would be back presently from collecting shiny new pool tables.

Saints & Sinners’ restroom was as filthy as the rest of the place, but at least its plumbing was in working order… by virtue of working at all.  The air conditioning and heating were flipped and their max setting was lukewarm.  Still, it was warmer than the streets during November, going on December.

Threadbare socks and porous boots did nothing to protect the Mardon brothers.  Saints & Sinners honestly looked abandoned from the outside, yet the twins knew something was up as soon as they entered.  Every bulb flickered like strobe lights.  Then they spotted a frizzy-haired guy scrunched in a corner.  He smelled too clean to be homeless.

He looked up at them with a tight mouth and wide eyes before scrambling to his feet.  The twins helped him up.  The younger assured him, “Easy, easy—we’re not gonna hurt you.  I’m Clyde, and this is Mark.  Are you hurt?”

The stranger shook his head and shivered.  His lips quaked until his clicked his jaw shut.  His hands blitzed, “(I’m scared and everybody’s out!)”

Mark signed a reply after sharing a we-know-what-we-gotta-do-so-let’s-do-it glance with Clyde, “(We can stay with you until they come back.)”

“(I don’t wanna keep you here if you’re busy,)” Anxiety ravaged his body, even his hair—uppity in front and fluffy.

“Our schedule’s crystal clear!” Clyde snaked an arm over Mark’s shoulders.  Mark mirrored the gesture and additionally placed a hand on one of the stranger’s shoulders. “We were supposed to go on a bank heist tonight, but then we met our boss.  We don’t work with parents who hate even one of their kids, and that dumbass hates both of ‘em.”

The stranger leaned neither away nor towards Mark’s hand; regardless, it felt grounding.  He led them to a booth and popped over to a quilt of paperwork.  One sheet ripped in half because a substance on the floor wouldn’t withdraw its claim on it.  The rest were either crinkled, wrinkled, folded at weird angles, or some combination of the three.

“I’ll be right back,” he chirped as he stuffed the stack into a recycling bin. “I gotta grab more applications in case anybody comes.  Did you want some for yourselves?”

“Nah, we’re good, but thanks anyway,” said Clyde.

The stranger paused midstep, “If you didn’t come here for jobs, what did you come here for?”

Grit and grime scuffed their jeans beyond recovery.  That morning’s monsoon waterlogged Clyde’s baseball cap and bomber jacket, Mark’s duffle coat, and both boys’ boots.  Mark signed, “(Warmth.)”

The stranger’s hazel eyes widened once more.  Pity didn’t control him like others before him.  His eyes said, “I used to be cold, too.”

The twins didn’t realize he’d also said it with his mouth because a dark-shirted man thundered across creaking wood.  The twins bolted up to their feet and brandished their pistols.  Clyde growled, “Fuck off, Snart!  We’ll starve before we work for you!!!”

“Looks like you’re already starving,” the aging man scoffed.  He drew his gun, “Put your toys away, boys, Snarts don’t fall for the same trick twice.”

“Len and Lisa wouldn’t have fallen for it at all!” Clyde snarled.

Lewis’s Venus fly trap grin became a glower, “Your brother and your buddy know how to watch their mouths, what went wrong with you? The name I gave my son is Leonard.  You saying you know my kids better than me!?  I raised ‘em!  I taught ‘em!!  I did everything I could to set ‘em on track, yet both of ‘em up and leave like demons outta heaven!!!”

The lights sparked erratically as the twins’ charge hyperventilated.  Lewis grinned again and stepped closer to him.  The young man’s gaze zoomed in on Lewis’s gun, to the side, anywhere but Lewis himself.  He scrunched as the room bulged from Lewis’s presence.

Lewis’s free hand stopped the mite’s micro movements to get away from him.  Faster than should’ve been possible for his size, Lewis curled his whiskey-cologned arm in front of the boy and his beer-bloated belly against the boy’s back.  Just seeing his eyes over the kid’s shoulder festered the menace in his words.  His eyes—absolute zero—lingered on his hostage before they fixed on the twins, “You could’ve just told me you wanted to cut your friend in on our little deal, boys.”

“Let him go, Snart!” Clyde immediately ditched his defiance when Lewis plowed his gun into his hostage’s forehead. “Let him go, please, he won’t bother us.”

“All the more reason to bring him; the more the merrier, ya know,” Lewis’s chuckle stuck to everyone’s ears like antifreeze: toxic yet sweet.  Both boys set their unloaded guns on the table without taking their eyes off Lewis and their charge.

“Lisa, I have a question abou—” Lewis didn’t let this newcomer finish before he fired at her.

Lewis didn’t get to breathe before a nauseating musk swiped his lunch.  A translucent puddle in a corner of cracked tiles and the biggest rat he’d ever seen told him he was in a bathroom.  This rat hissed and lunged at him.  Lewis wasted the rest of his bullets exterminating it.  He pawed at the handle, yet the door wouldn’t budge beyond an inch.

The quartet ignored Lewis’s pounds and shouts.  Instead, they fled to Shawna’s flaking Accord after she and the twins heaved a table to block his exit.  They half-dragged Solnishko along with them, dodging fizzling utility poles and drooling drunkards.  Shawna insulted her vehicle until it grumbled awake.  The twins sat in the back to sandwich Solnishko, whose eyes flickered an eerie blue and whose breath cycled every second.  Shawna handed Clyde her leftover soda after trashing her lid and straw so she wouldn’t pass her germs onto Solnishko while Mark—directed by Shawna—coaxed Solnishko into calming down by cupping his hands over his mouth and nose to regulate his breathing.  Solnishko clearly needed more sugar, but nobody had anything else to give him.  His eyes glazed and he trembled.  Mark felt sweat slap his duffle coat when Solnishko slumped against him.

“I gotta ask,” Clyde began.  Anticipatory anxiety punched the breath out of Solnishko.  Mark rubbed Solnishko’s back, exhaled shushing noises, and pulled Solnishko into him. “Who are you, how do you know our buddy, and how the hell did you handle almost dying so well???”

“Shawna Baez, Solnishko literally ran away from me less than ten minutes ago, and I transferred from Gotham University last year, respectively,” Shawna answered professionally.  She replied to their befuddled eyebrows, “Before I set up direct deposit for my job there, I picked up and dropped off checks manually.  One afternoon, a weirdass clown and his weirderass girlfriend held up my bank—not for money, mind you, but for a lifetime supply of those dorky pen chains.  The clown was flailing his gun and laughing while his girlfriend collected the goods.  Everybody else—except me, cuz I was still ridiculously new—went about business as usual, even while a creepyass vigilante punched the clown into next week!  After cops carted the clown and his girlfriend away, the vigilante reminded me,” her voice became charcoal, “‘ **Don’t forgot to sign the back.** ’” She switched back to her normal voice. “That’s one of my comparatively normal tales-that-should-be-fiction-but-aren’t-because-this-is-Gotham-goddamn-City.  Plus, the neighborhood I grew up in heard gunshots and sirens as often as playgrounds hear giggles and squeaky swing sets.”

“Huh,” Clyde exhaled and dumbly nodded. “Mark and I—Clyde, by the way—grew up alright until we turned ten.”

“What happened after that?”

“We ran away.”

“....Becauuuuuuse?”

“Because a mute classmate of ours accused my brother of not loving anybody,” Clyde tensed. “That moron—and everybody we knew, including our parents—thought the best way to encourage Mark to talk was to yell at him for never talking.”

Mark wished he’d tried harder to convince Clyde to stay with their parents.  Clyde was their prince.  He was normal, and they loved him.  Mark told himself he’d probably do alright on his own as long as his twin didn’t suffer.

Clyde knew everything about Mark, and Mark knew everything about Clyde, so Clyde sensed Mark’s regret sprouting again and nipped this weed in the bud, “Anyone who accepts both of us unconditionally is our family.  If somebody doesn’t want one of us, they can’t have either of us!”

* * *

Shawna’s comfort with shitty living situations meant Clay’s apartment was less than half an hour from Saints & Sinners.  Crumbs flaked off the ceiling, the spout on every faucet was shorter than a palm, and a castle of takeout boxes stank of oil and mold.

The twins didn’t miss how empty Clay’s fridge and pantry were, yet Shawna foraged food for not only Solnishko—whose portion vanished in a blink—but for the twins as well.  The twins pushed their food away and Mark assured her, “(You don’t have to—)”

“‘Baez!’—Grammy called everybody with blood ties to my daddy by their last name; I was the only she liked and the only one who liked her—” she pushed the twins’ food towards them and continued her imitation of her grandmother’s zesty voice and finger wags. “‘I ain’t stayinere much longer.  Don’t be sad now; I don’t wanna stick around in this useless body anyway.  It won’t dance, and it won’t sing.  I’m gonna have a new body when I die, and if somebody interrupts my dancin’ and singin’ to tell me you been sharin’ a little when you gotta lot, I’m comin’ back and takin’ your lot until that little you’re sharin’ is all you got.  Baez, you better off havin’ nothin’ and sharin’ everything than havin’ everything and sharin’ nothing.’’” Her voice returned to normal. “All I got is in the trunk of my car, and most of that’s either schoolbooks or Grammy’s quilting kit.  My clothes won’t fit you, and I’ll never hear the end of it if I lend you Clay’s clothes, so quit the prideful poor crap and eat my food, dammit!  There is no excuse for anybody to go hungry in this country; everywhere we go has plenty of food.  If Clay complains about going hungry for one night, you tell him how many nights you’ve gone hungry.”

“Okay,” Solnishko replied unexpectedly.  He shrunk under their scrutiny. “....Three burgers and three water bottles a day is enough for normal people, but I’m not normal.  I wish I was though.”

“....Whachoo wanna be normal for, boy!?” Shawna unintentionally slipped into Grammy’s voice yet continued it because Grammy gave good advice for all sorts of situations. “Normal’s for boring people!”

Solnishko hung his head low, “Der Mann in Gelb used to leave me all by myself for days, and now I can’t even go twenty minutes without freaking out.”

Mark scoffed, and so did Clyde, “If Mark leaves my sight, I go to DEFCON 3.”

“(We had different classes in second grade… for one week,)” Mark elaborated. “(He kicked our teachers for trying to take him back to his class, our principal for assigning us to different classes in the first place, and our parents for approving this decision.  He got suspended yet stalked me to school anyway.)”

Shawna gave a conservative snicker, whereas Solnishko laughed like a child: loud and sincere.  He was in the midst of this laugh when a Rottweiler-built man barged through the door.  Mark, Clyde, and Shawna bounded to block his path to Solnishko until their charge called them off.

Solnishko zipped into his brother’s embrace: fortified by arms that made others look like straw.  Mick gave him a once-over and a grunt of approval.  His arm wreathed Solnishko’s shoulders while he scanned the others and scowled at Clay’s apartment, “You three alright?”

“We are now, sir,” Shawna straightened her pose and answered for the group.

She was about to ask how Mick found Clay’s apartment when sleazy goatee himself swaggered in.  Theoretically, he should’ve been out hustling his deadbeat friends and sipping while they got stupid drunk.  Instead, his gilded medallion jangled as he revealed his revolver and bellowed, “Who the hell are you people!?!”

Any calm Solnishko had gained from Mick’s hug bolted at Clay’s volume.  He curled in on himself.  Mark and Clyde pulled him behind them, Shawna moved between the twins and Mick, and Mick turned around.  The younger man didn’t fear Mick’s proximity, crispy features, or grizzly words, “Put. That. Down.”

“No! I wanna know what you’re doing in my house!” Clay tightened his grip on his gun.

“Put it away, Clay,” Shawna urged him before gesturing to trio behind her. “I brought us back here because we almost got shot today.” She gestured to Mick, “He’s here to help Solnishko calm down.”

Clay grumpily holstered his revolver.  His gaze grazed Mick and then targeted Solnishko, “What kind of name is Solnishko anyway?”

“(What kind of name is Clay?)” Mark huffed.

Clay obviously didn’t understand a word Mark signed, so he brushed it off with an insult and mocking gestures, “Hands don’t talk, mouths do.”  He spotted tears leaking from Solnishko’s eyelids and heaving breaths, “Nobody else is crying.  How old are you, tw—”

Mick punched him before he got another word out.  Dazed and nestled in the wall, sparks clogged Clay’s vision.  Mick turned around and spoke to the group, “A couple badges are coming for Lewis.  Our cams were down for most of it because our electricity can’t work for shit, so they’ll need statements.”  Mick then addressed Shawna specifically, “Where’s your application, ma’am?”

Shawna handed it to him dejectedly yet gracefully.  If one of her applicants associated with someone half as bad as Clay, she wouldn’t hire him or her either, so Mick crumbling it up and trashing it didn’t surprise her.  She, Solnishko, and the twins left with Mick.

“Oh, so you’re loyal to a bunch of freaks you barely know, but when your boyfriend gets half-murdered in his own home, you don’t give a damn!” Clay wailed. “Don’t you dare step out that door and think I’ll welcome you back!”

“Nothing here’s worth comin’ back to!” Clyde toppled still-dizzy Clay backwards with a tap when the latter followed them out into the hallway. “Like you said, this is your home, not hers!”

“Yeah!? You gonna welcome her in yours?” Clay laughed; he knew the twins didn’t have one to offer her.

“Nope,” Mick marched back and slammed Clay back into the wall, “I’m welcoming them in mine.” This development stunned Shawna and the twins as much as Clay, so they just stood around unblinking until Mick explained himself.  He addressed Shawna first, “You’re hired because you kept your cool and got everybody out safely.  I ain’t holding you responsible for this asshole’s behavior; you don’t control him, and you walkin’ outta here with us tells me he doesn’t control you either.  Don’t let anybody control you, ma’am, cuz you got your act together, and ya never know if the person next to you does.”  The twins came next, “You’re hired because y'all risked your lives to keep a promise.  If that’s the level of loyalty y'all got for a complete stranger, I wanna find out whatchull do for someone who’s loyal to you.”

Shawna numbly collected her suitcase of clothes.  The Mardons rode with her while Solnishko clambered into a white truck with his brother.  Mick was happy that they’d elected to bring two vehicles instead of just one.  A single glance of Baez’s car and its ten-second reboot told him it had more rust than metal; it was probably older than Solnishko, for crying out loud!

The only noise filling up space was the engine thrumming and gravel against rubber.  Regardless, Mick didn’t expect Solnishko’s next words for a multitude of reasons, “You looked for me.”

“Of course, I looked for you.” Technically, Len’s SuperStalker app did the looking, but both Rorys knew that, so something else was up. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Mick almost missed him mewl, “....Yeah....” Solnishko turned away in shame. “You’ve only known me for a few months.  My first family knew me for four years, and they never looked for me.”

“Cub… you’ve been missing for fourteen years; to them, you still are missing.  It’s hard to keep hoping for change when something’s true for so long.  What you look like now ain’t gonna match up with whatever you looked like before.  Hell! We don’t even know your name or blood type.”

“AB+,” he sniffled, “or so he says.  He never said anything he didn’t believe was true.  I don’t know if everything he said was actually true, but he said he’s from the future… and in the future, I fall and die sometime after a lot of people gain superpowers.”

Der Mann in Gelb never stopped shocking whoever heard about him, “Are we brothers in this future of his?”

Solnishko shook his head and wearily faced him, “No.”

“Then his future ain’t gonna happen, cuz the only way you’re dying is over my dead body.”

The conversation stopped at that.  Solnishko pulled a package of Oreos out of the door pocket and ate a whole row.  He also uncapped a Gatorade and sipped it before the ride lulled him to sleep.

“Wir sind Fiende,” Solnishko snored: chugs of breath fogging up the window.  After learning Russian and ASL in a matter of weeks, the older trio assumed German was something der Mann in Gelb taught him, but Solnishko didn’t think so, especially not after dreams of a snow-toned brunette singing to him began surfacing.  Der Mann in Gelb never did lots of things to or for Solnishko: sing was one of them.  The lyrics were too garbled to make out, but he could reproduce the girl’s image on paper.

* * *

Shawna’s car somehow survived the journey back to Saints & Sinners.  A wolfish man had his hands clasped on the one booth in this dump of dive without a gash in its leather. Small victories!  He greeted the group, “Hopefully, this will be the only one, but welcome to Saints & Sinners’ first staff plus Lewis meeting.”

“I’m ‘father’ to you, boy!” Lewis bellowed from the bathroom.

Clyde raced through his rant faster than a rapper, “You wanna be called father, you start acting like one!  But until then, we’ll call you whatever you deserve, bastard!”

“Clyde, sit down,” Len gestured around him.

“You’d be calling me ‘sir’,” Lewis replied to Clyde, “assuming you listened to me long enough to—”

“You never listen to anybody!!!” Clyde snarled. “Why should anybody listen to you!?!”

“This isn’t your battle, Clyde,” said Len.  Solnishko clutched Mick as choler saturated the room in shouts.  Mick wrapped his free arm in front of Solnishko to comfort him; Shawna did her best to help Mick in this endeavor.  The others minus Clyde took their seats at the booth.

Mark facepalmed at his twin’s antics, yet didn’t step in until Solnishko began crying, “Clyde Mardon, sit your ass down and shut your mouth up.”

Len raised an eyebrow.  Mark didn’t raise his voice, yet Clyde obeyed immediately.  Mark flourished his hand at Solnishko and then Gibbs-slapped Clyde.

“Pleasedon’thurtLewis.  You’ll go to jail if you hurt him, and you’re my friend; I don’t want you to go to jail.”

180°, Clyde deflated.  Lewis didn’t give Clyde a chance to explain himself, “The only person who should be locked up around here is that lightning freak!”

Clyde would’ve started up again if Mark didn’t hold him down.  It wasn’t a strong hold: just a hand clamped on Clyde’s shoulder.  Len took note of this before asking Lewis, “And just how do you plan to convince anybody at CCPD to do that?  Never mind the fact that Solnishko has never done anything wrong in his life, half the Force knows you’ll accept any reality that’ll allow you to dodge the consequences of your actions, and the other half thinks you’re an unstable old man.  You have many allies, but how are you going to cash in any favors doped up on insanity drugs?  You’re not smart, Lewis, yet you’re not dumb either.  Do what you do best: whatever’s in your best interests.”

Lewis fumed as Shawna asked, “What exactly are we going to tell whoever shows up?”

“The truth,” Len answered; the rest of them looked at him like he was crazy until he added, “Lewis missed....  The cop who’s coming can smell bullshit a mile away, so don’t give him any bullshit to smell.”

A balding officer wearing a topcoat and a purple tie caught half a whiff of Saints & Sinners before he’d crossed the threshold, “Christ! This place is ripe!”

“Joseph!?” Lewis balked.

“....I’ve heard you’d been letting yourself go after Singh kicked you off the Force, but good grief, join a support group or somethin’,” Detective West sought out the origin of his former partner’s voice: just as caustic as he remembered.  He then addressed the Lisa-less group with vigilance, “Is everybody alright?”

“We’re all fine, Joe, Lisa should be arriving any minute now,” Len smiled for a beat. “She’s bringing dinner; would you care to partake with us?”

“I'll take a rain check on that offer, Len,” Joe patted his stomach. “Puppy Dog and I just finished at the Motorcar.”

“Stop calling me ‘Puppy Dog’!” a frizzy blond barked before following Joe in exactly like one.  He marched in wearing a blue tartan tie, a dark suit, and an addict’s eyes, “Who are we arresting???”

“My ex,” said Joe, phrasing it this way deliberately to amuse himself and annoy Lewis.  His junior scowled until Joe clarified, “The West to my Thawne once upon a time.”  Joe ambled over to the bathroom, and the duo removed the barricade together, “Eddie, Lewis; Lewis, Eddie.”

Eddie pumped his fist after he clacked the handcuffs in place, read him his rights—“I memorized my rights before you learned how to comb your hair, pretty boy!”—and returned to take statements.  As much as he hated Joe calling him Puppy Dog, he hated pretty boy even more.  His perpetually foul mood prevented him from noticing how Joe went out of his way to avoid calling him the latter.

Exasperation fueled his words when he tried to pull Solnishko aside, “Lewis tried to coerce the twins into participating in a bank heist with him, Baez came in, Lewis shot and missed her, you pulled Lewis into the bathroom, Baez and the twins barricaded it, and then you left Saints & Sinners with Baez and the twins.  That’s all you have to say!”

“Thawne! Outside, now!” Joe all but hauled Eddie out of view of the others.  Foggy breath followed the tide of Joe slapping his partner.  Eddie had the audacity to look indignant. “The last time I listened to everybody else instead of my instincts, two children suffered under our noses for years.  That boy comes from a bad home, and my instincts tell me somebody in that home looks a lot like you.  I will take his statement with whatever and whomever he needs to feel safe after I’m done with everyone else.” Joe exhaled sternly and poked Eddie’s chest and pointed intermittently: first towards Gotham, then at the ground. “You want an all-you-can-arrest buffet, you transfer your ass to Gotham; you wanna keep your ass in Central, you need a heart, not a score card.”

Eddie ultimately gave no response despite grumpily twitching his lips.  He sulked in the cruiser with his head on his fist and his arm against the shotgun door, obeying Joe’s implicit order to stay the hell away.  Lewis hmphed and sneered at him.  Eddie glowered at him via the rearview mirror.

Joe wasn’t surprised that Solnishko had taken sanctuary upstairs by the time he came back.  He finished taking Clyde’s statement and was glad he heeded his own advice to collect a golden retriever plushie from the cruiser. He handed the lap-sized toy to the younger Mardon, “This is Robbie. Singh’s boyfriend-whom-we-all-know-Singh-will-marry-some-day brings a crate of these down to the station each month and makes sure each of us have at least one to hand out to stressed out victims.”

Clyde shoved Robbie back towards Joe, who didn’t wince when Clyde began shouting again, “I’m not a victim!  I’m fine!”

“You’re fine, eh?” Joe hummed. “I’m betting you gotchoself worked up arguing with Lewis,” Clyde twitched, stepped back, and kicked some dust. “I’m also willing to bet that the only reason Eddie still has all his teeth inside his mouth is because Solnishko knows assaulting a cop is a felony offense; so how about instead of pickin’ fights you know you shouldn’t, you keep Robbie and yell at her instead?  She’s got more hair than Lewis, and she’s much more likely to listen to you; dogs got better ears than humans, after all.”

Joe held out Robbie until Clyde grumpily snatched her.  Joe then moved on to Mark and recommended that the younger man write out his statement in lieu of Joe sloshing through his rusty ASL.  Otherwise, he got through Mark and Shawna without incident.  He took a deep breath and gingerly approached the chairman of the Bury Lewis & Thawne Club, who stood beside the stairs like a bouncer with his arms folded and laser eyes.  Mick’s frown flattened, but Joe knew better than to believe Mick’s anger had evaporated.

“Go easy on him, Joe.” Good. First names meant Joe himself wasn’t in hot water. “Don’t apologize for Thawne; he’s the one who should apologize, not you.”

Joe nodded at him before heading upstairs.  He knocked on the office door then heard a scramble behind it.

“Joe is not going to hurt you, Zvezdochko,” Joe recognized Len’s trademark damage control tone from the last time he’d caught ear of Len using it: Lisa was twelve years old and freshly-scarred along her collarbone from a shard of Lewis’s favorite booze. “Joe’s the first person who believed Lise and me about Lewis.  He’s a good cop, and Thawne must be too underneath it all, otherwise Joe wouldn’t have anything to do with him.  The last bad badge he gave the time of day to was Lewis, and that was years ago; Lewis had everybody fooled back then.  Thawne comes from a small town that rarely sees much more than a parking violation.  He just needs to learn that in a perfect world, badges would never need to arrest anybody because we’d all be on our best behavior.”

“....Even der Mann in Gelb???”

“....Yes… even him.” West Bullshit Radar® told Joe that whoever this bastard was, Len didn’t believe for a second he had a best behavior. “Come on in, Joe.”

Len was in a folding chair on Joe’s left.  He flitted his eyes to the seat in front of a flamingo-legged desk that provided a step-by-step tutorial for how to draw a Spirograph.  A bubble of lamplight snarled at dingy shadows.  Solnishko peeked over the desk at Joe like a periscope.  Everything below his eyes hid behind it.

Joe took a seat and clipped his hands around his belt.  Solnishko tracked every movement Joe made, waiting for this perceived threat to become an actual threat.  The lamp flickered like a strobe light.  Len twisted its switch to turn it off and unplugged it after he lit a few candles.  They provided enough glow for Joe to write legibly.  Len moved towards the door until Joe said it’d be alright for him to stay.

“This poor boy’s been through enough stress today, Len, I’m not gonna add to it by making him face a stranger all by himself.”

“Your partner did,” Solnishko murmured more fearfully than ruefully, as if Joe would avenge this affront on Eddie’s honor.

“Yeah well, he and I had a little chat about that, and we’re gonna have a much longer chat about that after this,” said Joe. “Would you like somebody else to be here instead?”

Len remained beside the door.  Solnishko shook his head, “I kinda want my brother, but I think Lenny would be better at this than him.” He shrunk and winced at Len. “....If that’s okay???”

“Your choice is always okay, Zvezdochko,” Len retook his seat, and Solnishko finally took his own beside him.

Joe told Solnishko, “I’ve already got everybody else’s stories, so now I want yours.  Do you have any questions before we begin?”

“Lennysaidyouwouldn’thurtmebutareyougonnayellatme?”

Solnishko shifted as far back into his chair as he could and covered his ribs.  He relaxed precisely one joule when Joe shook his head, “Have you ever given a statement before, Solnishko?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, it’s kind of like tellin’ someone about your day,” Joe explained it like he would to a kid; he didn’t intentionally treat him this way, but Solnishko’s fragility warranted parental care and patience. “Would you like to practice by tellin’ me about a different day?”

“Which day, sir?”

Joe would prefer if the newest member of the Snart-Rory family was comfortable enough to call him by name, but that was a battle for another day, “A good day would be best.”

“How about July 19th?” Len suggested, patting Solnishko’s shoulder.

“Lisa took me shopping.  I was nervous cuz I’ve never been shopping before.  I thought she was gonna take me to a clothing store cuz she likes clothes—except Mick’s clothes; Lenny doesn’t really like Mick’s clothes either, but the last time Lenny complained about them, Mick burned Lenny’s clothes, so Lenny stopped complaining about them by the time Mick adopted me.” A puff of air escaped Len’s nose at that. “Instead, she took me to Store as Old as Stuff.  It had every Disney movie ever made, costumes for all the princes and princesses, and a huuuge crate of plushies!” Solnishko splayed his arms, smacking Len's face, distracted by excitement.  He speedily tucked his hands as he squeaked an apology.  Len shook his head teasingly while Joe chuckled. “I found a Lilo plushie pretty easily, but we had to dig through the entire crate to find a Stitch plushie.”

“You wanted a Stitch and a Lilo doll?”

Solnishko huffed at Joe like only an idiot would ask this question.  Joe knew he was in for it when Len smirked.  Solnishko boxed his hands on one side of the table, “You can’t have Lilo without Stitch or Lilo will get lonely,” and then the other “and you can’t have Stitch without Lilo or Stitch’ll obliterate everything!”  Solnishko groaned forgivingly, “Mick asked that question, too, so it’s not just you....  I, um… I think I can talk about today now if you want.”

“All I want is for you be safe, healthy, and happy,” Joe said. “If you’re not ready to talk about today right now, we’ll wait until you are.  Singh’s sending us home after this, so take all the time you want.”

“Don’t you wanna go home, though?”

Joe took back all of his complaints about World War III: What Type of Takeout Shall We Order Tonight?  Convincing this kid to think about himself made that look like a snowball fight.

Joe took a deep breath before he asked, “Would you like to take a break before we begin?”

“No, sir,” Solnishko shook his head.

“You’re not just sayin’ that cuz you think that’s what I want?”

“....A little bit, yeah,” his fingers traced the desk. “But I’m also thinking about what I want, and what I want is to go home; the sooner we get through this, the sooner I can do that.”

A sticky note joined its brethren on the whiteboard in Len’s brain.  Miraculously, Solnishko survived and signed his report without becoming a flashback-ridden wreck.  The trio exited the office and rejoined the others downstairs.  Mick and the twins had set up two pool tables in the meantime while Shawna executed a once paper-hogging stain on the floor with a rag, elbow grease, and her last bottle of Grammy’s Homestyle Cleaner©.  She discussed its ingredients and preparation to Len, Mark cleaned Mick and Clyde out at billiards, and Joe and Solnishko exchanged contact information at Len and Mick’s request.  Joe spent a few minutes assuring Solnishko it was indeed okay to call him any time and to absolutely call if he ever was in trouble.  Joe passed Lisa when she marched in hauling her weight in takeout, “ONE TRIIIIIIIIP!!!!!!”

“Time to go, ladies and gentlemen,” said Len.

Lisa slumped, “But I just one tripped everything in here!”

“Great! One trip everything into the truck!” Len ignored her groans to give orders to the rest of the crew. “Twins, help load Shawna’s gear into Lisa’s car; her vehicle is not going to survive the trip.”

Shawna tossed Mark the keys while Clyde dashed out the door and hollered at him to hurry up.  Lisa finally remembered to ask why all these people were here… and coming home with them....

“Maybe it’d be better to eat here, Lenny,” Mick suggested. “That way, we can have dinner and a show.”

Len agreed and opened his laptop.  Everybody squished to see it—corner booths are so convenient—and munched away on flaky tenders and dug into a bucket of biscuits.  Mark abruptly stopped eating to sign, “(Is this how Mick knew what we did?  And how you knew Clyde’s name?  Cuz if I had lights and cams that freaked out every time Clyde freaked out, I’d make sure at least one of ‘em was Clyde-proof.)”

“Very good, Mark,” Len reminded himself to give him a bonus for that feat of acuity. “Is everyone in prime viewing position for Lewis is a Moron Comedy Hour?”

“Lewis was here!?” Lisa tensed.  Len mmm-hmmd and clicked play.  The feed looked down and was located just above the entrance.  Guilt crushed Lisa when on-the-feed Solnishko huddled in a corner.

Luckily, Mark and Clyde soon entered the scene.  This time, everyone heard Solnishko say, “I used to be cold, too.”

Lisa flinched and Len twitched at Lewis’s tirade, and Mick growled when the bastard’s gun bruised Solnishko.  It faded as quickly as all of his other injuries—one time, he sprained his ankle nosediving into the basement after tripping up the stairs—but Lewis had no right to breathe the same air as his family!

“Please tell me the rat gave him rabies,” Lisa begged hopefully during Lewis’s gale of curses: his reaction to imprisonment inside a bathroom.

“The incubation period between a bite from a rabies-inflicted creature and the onset of symptoms can range from days to months,” Solnishko informed them.

“It resembles a flu early on until it includes debilitating symptoms such as hydrophobia, hallucinations, and hypersalivation,” Shawna added. “Most cases result in death.”

The group looked at her for a minute until Mark asked, “(Aren’t doctors supposed to do no harm?)”

“I’m not a doctor,” Shawna scoffed. “I’m not even in medical school yet.”

The End!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Store as Old as Stuff doesn't exist as far as I know. I'm not gonna insult your Disney knowledge by asking which movie it's a reference to, so how about this: what is the real name of the prince in said Disney movie?
> 
> Oh, and theoretically, the German dialog means "we are enemies", and Zvezdochko means "little star". If you can't figure out what "der Mann in Gelb" means, I can't help you; it's basically English already.
> 
> Thanks for reading :) Have a great morning/day/afternoon/evening/night. Whether you're on AO3 to write, read, both, or something else, I hope you enjoy what you do here and everywhere.


	2. Commentary

Welcome to the commentary of Joe West, Young Man.  The title is a pun on Joe's name and the catchphrase of America's westward expansion, typically credited to Horace Greeley, "Go west, young man."  It works so beautifully because 1) this fic is about expanding Solnishko’s list of social contacts and 2) this is also Joe and Solnishko’s official introduction to each other.  Intelligent puns are just as bad as stupid puns, yet the former is the height of punmanship.  Len and Joe meet bi-monthly for lunch at the Motorcar, so Len’s undoubtedly discussed his brother-in-law at least once.  I don’t think Joe knows about Solnishko’s powers, but I’m sure he agrees they need to keep him below the radar for his safety.  Lisa, Mick, and Iris tag along too when they’re available.  Solnishko hasn’t gone on one at this point.

 

As far as inspiration goes, the comics inspired Solnishko’s sleeptalking.  Apparently, comicverse!Iris discovered comicverse!Barry’s identity this way before he told her for real.

Len's nickname for Solnishko comes from Russia with love, introduced to me via greenbergsays's The Sun & the Star; it's a dark AU pre-serum Rogers/Winter Soldier fic.

Formerlyknownasyay's Close Knit reminded me to figure out everyone's hobbies, one of which was going to be knitting, but then I changed it to quilting to not step on her lovely, fluffy toes.  Plus, Rogue in the Lightning already has a quilt in it, so why not continue quilting rather than introducing something else?

So yeah, my inspirations inspired quirks rather than plot this time.  What’s more horrifying is that Part 3 might not have any inspiration at all.  Quick! Someone write and/or direct my attention to a Flash Goes to Build-a-Bear Workshop fic so I can say I was inspired by that!  As long as it's not titled Build-a-Baer Workshop, cuz that's mine :P

 

On summaries....  I wrote the summary the way I did because as funny as a “Snowy, I bought a bar” scene would be, it didn’t fit the narrative, so I used the summary to explain what the Snart-Rorys are trying to accomplish with Saints & Sinners.  Feel free to imagine Len, Lisa, and Solnishko’s reactions to Mick showing off Saints & Sinners for the first time.  I like the last line best because I can hear Len beginning the sentence enchanted by spending time alone with Mick until reality sets in about how unromantic picking up pool tables is.  I must’ve cut and spliced and performed every trick I know to fit it within the character limit, but I’d rate it as a pleasant exercise overall.

 

Before I get into the text, let me address the Disney pop quiz by saying Beast’s real name is evidently Adam.

 

_Her freshman self vowed never to apply for an “I’m Black” scholarship, because if Grammy could become class valedictorian without such nonsense, so could Shawna...._

Originally, everything after “scholarship” was “on principle”, but Shawna never explained what that principle was.  Plus, Grammy had such a huge impact on her.  I wanted to set that up as soon as possible so that when Shawna discussed her, Grammy’s not just some random lady.  There were almost certainly no “I’m Black” scholarships in Grammy’s time, and her family/financial situation probably wasn’t much better than her future granddaughter’s, yet she kicked college’s ass anyway!

 

_his dragon tattoo had rabies_

Rabies was just supposed to be a stupid joke, but nope, turns out rabies is not a lot of fun.  Most people die within days of the onset of their symptoms.

 

_Still, it was warmer than the streets during November, going on December._

[This is a _Sound of Music_ reference.  “You are sixteen, going on seventeen…”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwK_WOXjfc0)

 

_We don’t work with parents who hate even one of their kids, and that dumbass hates both of ‘em_

Lines like these are why I think JWYM makes more sense the second time through as opposed to WLYSS, which was more upfront with its information.  Lewis and Clay derail explanations any time they enter a scene or put their two cents in.

 

_Shawna insulted her vehicle until it grumbled awake._

Shawna’s car reminds me of my laptop, unfortunately >:(

 

_The twins sat in the back to sandwich Solnishko, whose eyes flickered an eerie blue and whose breath cycled every second.  Shawna handed Clyde her leftover soda after trashing her lid and straw so she wouldn’t pass her germs onto Solnishko while Mark—directed by Shawna—coaxed Solnishko to calm down by cupping his hands over his mouth and nose to regulate his breathing.  Solnishko clearly needed more sugar, but nobody had anything else to give him.  His eyes glazed and he trembled.  Mark felt sweat slap his duffle coat when Solnishko slumped against him._

I consulted THE authority on diabetes to write Solnishko’s pseudo-diabetic low: my mom, a diabetic.  He’s also panicking because Lewis barged in on an already crappy day, making him use his powers to save Shawna, so he’s thinking that she and the twins are gonna think he’s a freak.

 

_“Who are you, how do you know our buddy, and how the hell did you handle almost dying so well???”_

_“Shawna Baez, Solnishko literally ran away from me less than ten minutes ago, and I transferred from Gotham University last year, respectively,”_

Shawna studied in Gotham for years and survived to tell about it.  She ain’t takin’ nobody’s shit!

Just for clarification, Shawna's native to Central, but she attended college in Gotham until she moved back to Central because Grammy's health unfortunately declined.

 

**_Don’t forgot to sign the back_ **

:D  I’m not working with any specific incarnation of Batman & company in mind.  I currently have no plans for a road trip to Gotham or a battrip to Central, but let me know what y’all would think about either or both of those options becoming a thing.  I have a penguins-clogging-the-road-to-Shawna’s-class drabble in (Fingers Crossed), so go ahead and check that out if you're interested.

 

_Clyde was their prince.  He was normal, and they loved him._

Clyde was most definitely spoiled under his parents’ roof.  Mark, meanwhile, was allegedly wasting his chance to say “I love you”.  They probably never physically hurt Mark, but emotional wounds are just as painful.  I went back and forth on which Mardon would be selectively mute, but their personalities work better with Mark as the quiet one.  I also originally had the weird idea that Clyde shouldn’t exist in this ‘verse; he should be Clark and kind of a goth....  It was a LONG, hideous road to what y’all see in chapter one, you guys.  I have at least four files dedicated to drafts of what eventually became JWYM, not including my two general RitL notes files.  The first file dedicated to what eventually became JWYM was created on August 21st, 2016.

 

_every faucet was shorter than a palm_

Anybody else hate short faucets?  All of you???  Oh my gosh! Me too!  They make you pray the sink is clean, cuz otherwise, you’re banging your trying-to-get-clean hands against germy porcelain  :P  Bleh!

 

_My first family knew me for four years, and they never looked for me_

I promise this isn’t true! But what’s the poor boy supposed to think?  I'd bet der Mann in Gelb told him they didn't look for him, too.

 

_It’s hard to keep hoping for change when something’s true for so long_

:( :( :( :( :(

 

_AB+_

Allen, Barry; positive outlook.  He may fear just about everything and have had one of the worst childhoods I could ever imagine, yet he got out of bed this morning and faced the world beyond safehouse #8 anyway.

 

_“Wir sind Fiende,”_

This line was not planned beforehand.  It bullied its way into JWYM and wouldn’t leave.  I don’t know how much he knows about the original timeline—definitely nothing about his first family—but he knows about Heatwave and presumably the rest of the Rogues Gallery.  Try rereading WLYSS knowing that Solnishko learned about Mick Rory as a lighter-happy pyromaniac who aimed his heat gun at Solnishko in most of their encounters.  Add in Captain Cold and Golden Glider for more horror.  Then insert the Mardon brothers!  To recap, Solnishko is now living with a version of his most ruthless enemies.

Pay special attention to what Solnishko begs of Len during the flipbook debacle " **pleasedon’tfreezeme** ".

If you think I'm a horrible person now, just wait 'til part 3.

_After learning Russian and ASL in a matter of weeks, the older trio assumed German was something der Mann in Gelb taught him, but Solnishko didn’t think so, especially not after dreams of a snow-toned brunette singing to him began surfacing.  Der Mann in Gelb never did lots of things to or for Solnishko: sing was one of them.  The lyrics were too garbled to make out, but he could reproduce the girl’s image on paper._

[This is the song Solnishko is hearing in his dreams, with lyrics translated into English.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fz-zQBvTbiU)  My German teacher taught us the first verse, then showed us this video of the full song.

And while we’re on the subject of Solnishko’s first family, any guesses as to who the “snow-toned brunette” in his dreams is?  Hint: the Allens advocate adoption because Henry and Joe are adopted, too....  Because RitL isn't canon divergent enough already... and this is all still technically pre-canon! Whoo-hoo!

 

_“You’d be calling me ‘sir’,” Lewis replied to Clyde, “assuming you listened to me long enough to—”_

_“You never listen to anybody!!!” Clyde snarled. “Why should anybody listen to you!?!”_

One of my teachers had the grand idea of having us tell the class about our assigned characters in-character.  This conversation came about because of it.

 

_180°, Clyde deflated.  Lewis didn’t give Clyde a chance to explain himself, “The only person who should be locked up around here is that lightning freak!”_

Shut the fuck up, Lewis!

 

_“Stop calling me ‘Puppy Dog’!” a frizzy blond barked before following Joe in exactly like one._

I find this hypocrisy much more amusing than I probably should.

 

_“My ex,” said Joe, phrasing it this way deliberately to amuse himself and annoy Lewis.  His junior scowled until Joe clarified, “The West to my Thawne once upon a time.”  Joe ambled over to the bathroom, and the duo removed the barricade together, “Eddie, Lewis; Lewis, Eddie.”_

Joe’s canon pre-Thawne partner probably exists somewhere in RitL, just not as Joe’s canon pre-Thawne partner, because be honest, people, how many of us can even the dude without looking it up?  He’ll show up if I ever need a non-Joe, non-Thawne, non-Singh cop on the scene.  Or maybe he’ll die when the particle accelerator explodes, I dunno.  Maybe he’ll be Patty’s Thawne to his West or something.  The point is, I have no plans for Officer What's-His-Face at the moment.  I have no plans for Patty or Julien either, but Julien has a slightly higher chance of appearing since CCPD’s forensic science division has an opening.  I think they're both losers though, so no promises.  Plus, I think RitL has a strict, one jerkass CCPD staff member limit, which Eddie is already filling at the moment.

 

_Exasperation fueled his words when he tried to pull Solnishko aside, “Lewis tried to coerce the twins into participating in a bank heist with him, Baez came in, Lewis shot and missed her, you pulled Lewis into the bathroom, Baez and the twins barricaded it, and then you left Saints & Sinners with Baez and the twins.  That’s all you have to say!”_

Goddammit, Eddie!

Someone needs to undergo character development, dammit, and it looks like Eddie drew the short straw.  Although to be fair on him, he didn't so much draw the short straw as much as I stuffed it down his esophagus.

Also, for being direct-yet-distant relatives, Eddie and Eobard look remarkably similar, and Solnishko must notice that too.  They’re both blond, shorter-than-Solnishko (if we’re going by actor height) men who raise their voice when agitated.

 

_“Thawne! Outside, now!” Joe all but hauled Eddie out of view of the others._

Oooooh! Eddie just got last-named!

 

_“You want an all-you-can-arrest buffet, you transfer your ass to Gotham; you wanna keep your ass in Central, you need a heart, not a score card.”_

I was originally gonna include Star(ling) City as an alternative to Central, but I neither wanted to start a Starling City versus Star City debate nor try to figure out how Team Arrow operates in this weird little world.

Joe's a cool dude, but he will lay down the law when the law needs to be laid down.

 

_Lewis hmphed and sneered at him.  Eddie glowered at him via the rearview mirror._

Boy Who Never Grew Up, meet Boy Who Needs to Grow Up.

 

_He finished taking Clyde’s statement and was glad he heeded his own advice to collect a golden retriever plushie from the cruiser.  He handed the lap-sized toy to the younger Mardon, “This is Robbie.  Singh’s boyfriend-whom-we-all-know-Singh-will-marry-some-day brings a crate of these down to the station each month and makes sure each of us so we all have at least one to hand out to stressed out victims.”_

Originally, they were all gonna head down to the station to give their statements there, and Robbie was gonna be an actual golden retriever owned by Rob: therapy dog trainer.  Then I did some research on procedures for taking statements which stated they should be taken as soon as possible while the events are fresh in the involved parties’ minds.  I interpreted that to mean Joe would take their statements at Saints & Sinners.

 

_keep Robbie and yell at her instead.  She’s got more hair than Lewis, and she’s much more likely to listen to you; dogs got better ears than humans, after all_

lol

 

_Joe’s the first person who believed Lise and me about Lewis.  He’s a good cop, and Thawne must be too underneath it all, otherwise Joe wouldn’t have anything to do with him.  The last bad badge he gave the time of day to was Lewis, and that was years ago; Lewis had everybody fooled back then.  Thawne comes from a small town that rarely sees much more than a parking violation.  He just needs to learn that in a perfect world, badges would never need to arrest anybody because we’d all be on our best behavior._

Len and Mick and Lisa refer to police officers in general as badges and Joe as a cop because Joe has earned their trust.

 

_“....Even der Mann in Gelb???”_

This is the Stockholm Syndrome-esque I was worried about, if you read the beginning notes.  However, seeing as how none of you have commented on it yet, I shall assume JWYM does not need to be tagged for Stockholm Syndrome.  Solnishko knows der Mann in Gelb tortured him, but he has had a terrible day; he's just looking for a little hope, that's all.

 

_West Bullshit Radar®_

The best thing about writing intuitive characters as opposed to academic characters is intuition involves no research; they just need to “figure out” what the author knows.  As the Laziest Author in Existence, Joe is refreshingly easy to write.

 

_How about July 19 th_

Solnishko’s birthday is June 20th: the summer solstice (for those of us living in the Northern Hemisphere).  Mick rescued him on June 21st.  July 19th is just a smidgeon under a month after that.

 

_I found a Lilo plushie pretty easily, but we had to dig through the entire crate to find a Stitch plushie_

Looking around online led to the conclusion that Stitchandise is easier to find than Lilo merchandise, so Solnishko and Lisa had to search for an unclaimed Stitch.

 

_You can’t have Lilo without Stitch or Lilo will get lonely, and you can’t have Stitch without Lilo or Stitch’ll obliterate everything!_

_Lilo & Stitch_ basically wrote the Bible on Solnishko’s relationship with his family.  [Read this post for further details](http://northwestmagpie.tumblr.com/post/96918329394/ilyone-kismesister-friendlytroll).  If Tumblr hates you or if you hate Tumblr, what I’m getting at is that Lisa, Len, and Mick adapt to Solnishko rather than forcing Solnishko to behave like a normal person.

 

_World War III: What Type of Takeout Shall We Order Tonight?_

Joe, Iris, Henry, Nora, Solnishko’s Schwester, Solnishko's hermano, and Henry’s adoptive parents.  Yeah, I’ll bet warfare's brutal.

 

_she marched in hauling her weight in takeout, “ONE TRIIIIIIIIP!!!!!!”_

You go, Lisa! *applause*  They ordered KFC or something KFC-like if any of you were curious.

 

_one time, he sprained his ankle nosediving into the basement after tripping up the stairs_

As a basement dweller, I am 100% shocked this hasn't happened to me yet.  I've tripped up the stairs multiple times and sprained my ankle separately, but not both in the same incident.  This is why I'm a writer instead of an athlete; I sustain enough injuries excluding sports from my life that I don't want to tempt fate by including sports in my life.

 

_“I’m not a doctor,” Shawna scoffed. “I’m not even in medical school yet.”_

That’s Shawna for you: turning an insult into an advantage.  And not just anybody’s insult: CLAY’S insult :D  I don’t know how “do no harm” applies to aspiring doctors, but it’s only illegal if you get caught >:D

Plus, are any of you seriously going to give Shawna crap for letting Lewis suffer and die like he deserves?  Great! Neither was I!

Once again, I dreamed up more stuff I could’ve written yet didn't.  You know an ending when you see it, and that was it.  I do have an extended edition in mind that I’ll most likely post separately under RitL Not So Drab Drabbles (Fingers Crossed) once it’s complete.  I’m on the fence about whether I should accommodate people who are as lazy as me and include vanilla JWYM as chapter one & the extension as chapter two or just post the extension.  Let me know how you feel either way.  And yes, I shall be doing a commentary on the extension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations! You've survived another HFE commentary! You deserve a portion of your favorite food. I don't have a portion of your favorite food to give you, but you deserve it :D
> 
> Thanks so much for reading this :)


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